


The Pocket Prometheus

by PsychoPomposity



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types
Genre: Children, Gen, Humor, Macabre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoPomposity/pseuds/PsychoPomposity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pugsley is upset after a mishap at a local library program. Wednesday attempts to cheer him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pocket Prometheus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CupcakeGoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeGoth/gifts).



Wednesday crept noiselessly over floorboards accustomed to creaking, holding in one hand the dish of belladonna-flavored ice cream that Lurch had helped her to fix after supper. It was miserable to have her brother sulking, and it wasn't even miserable in a fun way. Ever since they'd gotten back from the library, he'd been moping in his bedroom. He'd made only a cursory appearance at mealtime to push the food around his plate, hoping no doubt that it would crawl under the table of its own accord without grandmama noticing.

“I brought you dessert, “ she said upon reaching his door, and was unsurprised when she was answered with silence.

She tried the handle, and finding the door unlocked, opened it. Pugsley lay face down in the middle of the room as though he were in deep meditation regarding the floor.

“I'm sure it will work out,” she continued, “I doubt that animal control really has the legal power to detain him.”

Pugsley remained silent as Wednesday put the already melting sundae next to him, evidently in too deep in lugubrious contemplation of the public library system's Read and Share program to react to either her words of encouragement or the proffered sweet. Sighing, she looked about the room and found her gaze landing on the antique fireplace poker infamously used by Great Uncle Lacrimosus in the incident which rendered his name unspeakable in polite company. As beads of the black-purple confection began to dribble themselves onto the floor, she picked up the implement and with it did her utmost to right her brother's body. She hoped that he would prove more receptive to cheering up if he was made to face the person inflicting cheer upon him.

"My ribs...," he groaned.

"...are protecting various vital organs," she said, turning her attentions to his soft, unprotected, ribless belly as if to make a point.

Pugsley soon righted himself more or less of his own accord, and pulled himself into a sitting position. He sulkily took the ice cream in hand and began to spoon some into his mouth.

“I'm not really hungry,” he said in between bites, “I'm too worried to be hungry.”

“Even if they do manage to argue that he's an animal, I doubt they can do much about him. I don't think euthanasia would even work in his case.”

“Wednesday,” he said, seemingly ignoring her reassurances, “What's this bitter almond flavoring in the topping? I don't recognize it.”

“It's the taste of sisterly affection, Pugsley,” she said without skipping a beat. “Although if you aren't hungry I suppose that you don't have to eat it.”

“I don't have to be hungry to eat.”

She sat down beside him, weighing the heft of the poker in her hands as she tried to think of how best to remove his apprehensions about what had happened. She knew that father was out attempting to explain the situation, but there weren't any guarantees that he'd succeed in convincing the authorities of the correctness of her brother's actions. She imagined that the parents of children who had been bitten would be hard to placate, despite having been graced with a wonderful educational opportunity. It seemed fairly obvious to her, at least, that the unjust persecution Pugsley's latest pet was suffering dovetailed elegantly with the themes he had been trying to underscore in his presentation.

“I suppose they'll change their slogan, if nothing else,” she said after a few moments' thought.

Pugsley nodded as he scraped the last bits of ice cream from the bowl, licking his fingers shortly afterwards. He did not seem particularly cheered by any of the goings on, but Wednesday got the impression that his mood had shifted from blackest despair to a slightly lighter shade – perhaps a charcoal or gunmetal despair instead. It was a despair that might be teased into something interesting if nothing else, and she envisioned that if all their worst fears came true, he would probably be in a good state to preside over a funeral for his fallen companion. He might even be moved to undertake some diabolic campaign of vengeance upon those who had wronged him, and she couldn't well imagine him staying down in the dumps for long with such a project on the horizon.

Wednesday was just at the point of leaving when the two children heard the booming baritone of their father below, yelling Pugsley's name excitedly. With anxious anticipation, the boy raced down the stairs, obviously full of hope that there was good news, or in its absence, the sort of bad news that could be enjoyed.

He turned the bannister to find his father carrying a stainless steel cage of moderate size, which jostled and shook as though the character of the container itself was one of grim malevolence, seething with hatred for humanity. Somewhere something (probably a something that was Thing) skittered under a cabinet in fear. Pugsley's eyes widened with joy at the sight.

“Frank!” he said breathlessly as he ran down the remaining stairs.

“He's in a bit of a pique,” Gomez said with faint regret, “You wouldn't believe what they wanted to do with him. I'm pleased to tell you that you've been banned from next year's event, so I can't imagine it will happen again.”

Pugsley didn't seem fazed by any of this, and greedily grabbed for the cage, eager to hold its contents in his arms. A small flapping book, stitched in suspicious-looking leather, slid out as soon as he undid the bolt. It opened and closed rapidly as he handled it, in apparent eagerness to catch one of the plump fingers that touched it as it was loosed back into the world

In the happy minutes that passed, he didn't notice that his mother joined them in the front room. This was possibly due to his excitement at being reunited with the lost book, although it could not be entirely discounted that Morticia might have glided in silent levitation over the dusty speckled mansion floors or manifested herself from the abyssal shadows that haunted the corners of every room – as both of these alternatives would have made her less-than-easily detectable to a young boy.

“Such a pity things turned out this way,” she said in a low voice to her husband, “They're no longer welcome at so many things. The pottery class... the Easter petting zoo... swimming lessons...”

“To be fair, the pool is no longer open to anyone, at least not until the radiation falls within an acceptable range.”

“I don't understand why they'd get so upset about this, though, I mean look...” She held up the xeroxed event guide in one hand. In crisp black comic sans letters were sprawled the following words:

“Annual Read and Share Program: Bringing Books to Life.”


End file.
